It's My Dance
by TheLittleLuPone
Summary: It's a dance they both knew. A dance no one had to teach them. Whether she knew it or not, Joan was asking for it the second she moved in and Fiona was all to happy to oblige. Fiona Goode/Joan Ramsey


**Author's Note:**

** "Raspily" is not a word, but I used it anyway, because "I'm in charge everywhere"...**

**...So enjoy.**

"You know, I've never understood you bible-thumpers and you're hypocrisy towards sex. I know, behind closed doors, you're the biggest perverts of all." Fiona used the desk as leverage to push herself up, flush with the shorter woman. With a raging intensity flickering in her eyes, the witch leaned close enough to give Joan a whiff of the afternoon cocktail on her hot breath.

"Let's sin." She growled, crashing her neighbors plump lips to hers with a forceful hand on each cheek.

Joan squeaked, wide-eyed, against her lips, before pushing herself away. "Dear Lord!" Shock had her hoarse.

"No need to be modest, neighbor. I know you want to, and for that reason I'll let you choose. You want it on the table or against the wall?"

"My God! You- I-" she stumbled over her words and her feet, backing away from the predator.

"Would you stop with the Jesus shit already? The only time you scream for God when you're with me, is when you're cumming. Got it?"

Joan froze at the blatant promise of pleasure, giving Fiona the opportunity to swoop in and take her by the waist for another kiss-this one met with much less resistance. The stiff half of their embrace lost all resistance when Fiona's poisonous tongue swept across a plump lip. Joan's arms settled down around the witch's neck with slow apprehension and a meek sigh-lips spreading to the tongue of another woman for the first time.

Fiona's hands were everywhere at once and it made her head spin. This was so wrong. The worst of sins-to lust after another woman so strongly. And, God was it strong.

Joan's back hit the table with a thud, and rough kisses hit her chest with wet smacks.

"God, this dress." Fiona murmured in disgust, ripping it from her body to reveal red lace lingerie. With a smirk, she sent the dress whizzing across the room and into the raging hearth. Another swish of her long, elegant digits and the blue catastrophe lit up in searing red flames.

"What are you?" Joan whispered, fear and excitement shaking her voice.

"A natural brunette." She whispered hotly across her lobe, adding a tug with her pearly whites for the sheer joy of hearing the women beneath her squeal. "But, the question is, are you?" A firm, warm hand accentuated the naughty question, squeezing Joan's thigh before raking all five nails across her sensitive mons, causing a loud, needy mewl.

"Oh, you have been neglected, haven't you, darling?" She cooed against her neck, where her kisses had sloppily sunk to. A bright red nail skimmed beneath the hem of red lace panties with teasing light pressure before snapping the band back against Joan's milky flesh.

"Mmmm..." Was the squealed response, eyes squeezed shut in anticipation.

"And look how eager you are. You were begging for it when you came in here weren't you? Sashaying into my house, with this trashy lingerie hidden under your habit. Bringing me the 'good book'. Hmmm...let's see just how _good_ it feels..." She flipped Joan on her stomach with a twirl of her fingers in surprisingly gentle nature. This was combated directly when the rough leather binding of the "Good Book" swatted against Joan's ample rear.

"I knew you'd like it. You holy-rollers are always the submissive type." Another swat, then slow teasing circles. Another. Joan's moans got louder with each slap of leather.

"Come on, don't be shy. Tell me how it feels." Fiona was bent over her know, chest pushed to her newest pet's back and her command came as a poisonous whisper, sliding against the silk of Joan's cheek.

"Goo- good." Her voice shook with pleasure and embarrassment.

"No. 'Great'." The witch corrected with a final stinging swap.

"Yes. Suh-so good." She moaned meekly, under her breath.

"That's it." With a single finger, Fiona wiggled her way beneath red lace to test her partner. "Oh, yes. You're more than ready."

The witch twirled her fingers, and Joan was on her back once more, breathing heavy and staring into the void of the Supreme's burning eyes.

Fiona bowed her head to Joan's chest, lapping at the hollow between her covered breasts.

The Christian was on fire-her body raging as it never had before. This woman would be the death of her. _Woman_. Dear God, what a sin. Pearly whites nipped at the peak of her right nipple through thin lace, and she cried out in pleasure with an arched back. Yes, a sin. A deliciously ecstatic sin.

The witch reached beneath Joan's arched back and popped the red lace bra open, ripping it off in a flash. "What a whore," she admonished, waving the negligée above her heaving form. "I didn't know they let whores in church." Fiona announced, bowing to lavish Joan's ample breasts. Her tongue flicked out against a nipple, swirling and sucking at the peak before running her teeth against it mercilessly. Eyes rolled into the back of her head, the Christian stifled moans by biting down on her fist.

"Oh, come on, that's no way to show your appreciation. Go ahead and scream. Scream for me." Witch nails dug into the soft freckled flesh of Joan's fist, pulling it from her mouth. With the cork removed, far from ladylike moans and screeches poured from her between her lips.

"That's right," she cooed raspily, sinking lower to lap at the pool of a puckered navel.

Joan's back arched with anticipation, and she squirmed on the polished wood when the Supreme traced rough patterns with her nails. Red claws left tracks of the same color between Joan's navel and womanhood. She was panting mercilessly...

There was a lapse in the torture, as Fiona bowed to lightly—teasingly—sandwhich red lace between her moist lips and Joan's even damper core. With claws under the elastic, she ripped the strip of cloth from her body, and flicked it up near the woman's head.

"Look, magic." Fiona whispered against the inside of her naked thigh. With a flick of a finger, the lingerie went up in flames, inches from her face. Joan let a blood-curtling scream rip through her body, whether from the lick of flames or the lick of witch tongue, Fiona was unsure.

The witch suckled on her nub mercilessly, and without breath. Joan's eyes squinted against the burning intensity of pleasure. The world was a blur and she was voluntarily drowning in its' swirling colors and fuzzy lights. Craning her neck, she attempted to regain composure by focusing on the silky blonde waves between her legs, but whatever Fiona was up to down there was too much for her neglected body. The witch ran over her slit with long strokes of a flat tongue, and her head fell back in a long whine of a moan.

When the pleasure couldn't become any more intense, Fiona ensured that it did. Without warning she thrust two fingers into her, curving them upwards with a steady, thumping rhythm. Overwhelmed with a suffocating type of pleasure she had never known, Joan's entire body went rigid, preparing itself for the fall. And with a nip to the clit she was over the edge, fallen from the cliff and swimming in the sheer bliss of an orgasm like one she'd never experienced before.

Somewhere in the haze, her eyes locked with those of past Supreme's hung on the wall. Each wore a self-satisfied smirk at the hypocrisy of the woman sprawled out on the table, panting and flushed with lust.

Joan's heartbeat slowed, and with it, the world around her. Everything fell back into place, slowed. Fiona slunk back up her body, planting sporadic kisses along the way, stilling at her cheek to lick a line across her jaw and capture her lips in one final breathtaking kiss.

"Satisfied?" she breathed into her ear before clamping down on the lobe seductively.

"More than," Joan whimpered back.

After one more nibble, the witch sat straight and crossed to the far end of the table for her absinthe and a cigarette. "Good. Now get out."

"What?" The shock in her voice was thick and spoke of un-shed tears. Her arms became a makeshift bra, cradling her ample breasts to preserve modesty lost.

"You heard me. Get out."

"You-you..."

"Bitch! That's the word you're looking for, so say it."

A single tear broke free and rolled down her freckled cheek. "Why?"

"Oh, drop the act Joan. You think I didn't know who you are and exactly why you're here? To think, the Supreme not being able to recognize the figurehead of the Corporation when she takes up root next door. No, I'm not that stupid, I know my picture hangs on a dartboard in your home. But now I know you're weak-easily manipulated. And that's all I needed to know, so get out."

Silently, Joan pulled herself from the table, collected what little of her clothes weren't singed and made her way to the door. But not before flicking her wrist towards the drapes, setting them aflame.

"I suspect we'll be seeing more of each other Fiona." She called over the crackling sizzle of burning fabric.

**Author's Note 2:**

**If you have not been able to get your hands on a copy of the AHS edition of Entertainment Weekly, you really ought to. It shed light on a lot of things, including the true identity of Hank, Cordelia's husband, as an assassin for the centuries-old witch-hunting group called "The Corporation". I am convinced that Joan is leading the whole thing, and my little Patti-lustful heart won't let go of a fantasy in which she is a witch as well, seeking domination over the Salem witches. Hence the ending of this piece. **

**Thank you for your support.**


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